


glowsticks

by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Paint, Dancing, Episode: s03e16 Illuminated, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Take off your shirt, beta boy. You look like a stick in the mud, and you’re <i>sticking out.</i>”</p><p>Derek frowns.</p><p>"Like a sore thumb."</p>
            </blockquote>





	glowsticks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [Tumblr](http://thenemeton.tumblr.com/post/74817539417/glowsticks), but I liked it enough to put it over here, too.
> 
> There is art for this! A [graphic](http://tinderbox210.tumblr.com/post/74859247561/paint-his-face-and-catch-the-beat-inspired-by) made by the lovely tinderbox210.

Lydia’s only just finished rolling her eyes at Aiden when she notices it. There’s something behind her, almost  _watching_ her. Before she can call for Scott the feeling dissipates, and she looks around the room, trying to spot whoever it was, but they’re gone.

 

Instead, her eyes light on someone else: Derek Hale.

 

Last she checked, he was out of town, but she can’t deny the poetic nature of his life. He always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; just a little out of place. Even here, now, in his own home… it’s been so transformed that Derek really does look every bit unnatural. 

 

Lydia weaves through the crowd towards the door with the practiced ease of someone who once spent far too much time at parties. Derek hasn’t moved; he looks like he’s in shock. Her mouth quirks up at the corners.

 

"You didn’t say you were back in town," she shouts over the music, hand tugging on his arm a moment to grasp his attention. She wonders how much concentration it takes a werewolf to tune out the voices and the music enough to hear anyone at all, but he looks down at her, chest heaving, eyes glowing a very unnatural blue. 

 

She doubts that’s the effect of the blacklight, but she has to admit, it does make them seem… vibrant.

 

He doesn’t say anything, so she tries a different tactic. “You’re the one who gave me your keys.”

 

The fangs are receding back into his gums. “That’s because I  _thought_ you were the responsible one.” 

 

She leans closer, wondering if that’ll make it easier or harder for him to hear. Sometimes she wishes she could just take a werewolf apart — for study, of course. If only there was a way to put them back together. “We were going to clean it up — like we’d never been here.”

 

"You’re  _here,_ " he growls back. 

 

"And it’s fun. We’re having fun." She’s lying through her teeth. Aiden is pissing her off, and she knows he only did it in a ploy to get back at her.

 

Lydia’s sick of bad boys. Even if she’s got the original model right in front of her.

 

"Come on."

 

She grabs his arm, and for some reason he follows, though he’s dragging his feet as she weaves them through the dancing bodies. They work surprisingly well together — Lydia’s small enough to pass almost unnoticed, and Derek shoulders do a great job of clearing a path. It’s not long before they’re standing in front of a girl in a glowing bikini, holding a paintbrush absently while she replenishes ice.

 

"We need some paint." The girl looks up, smirking.

 

"Body or face?"

 

Turning to look at Derek (who’s looking like he’d rather be doing anything else, though he hasn’t wrestled his wrist from her grip), she raises her eyebrows, inspecting him.

 

(Pretending she hasn’t  _inspected_ him before. In great detail.)

 

"Body," she shouts, turning with an enigmatic smile. The girl with the paint nods appreciatively before grabbing two brushes and gesturing to the colorful pain.

 

"Have at it."

 

Lydia finally lets go of Derek, only to grab the hem of his shirt.

 

"Lydia, what — "

 

"Take off your shirt, beta boy. You look like a stick in the mud, and you’re  _sticking out._ ”

 

Derek frowns.

 

"Like a sore thumb."

 

There’s a moment where she thinks he’s actually going to turn around and walk out, until: “I  _am_ capable of taking off my own shirt.”

 

She tosses him a smile. “Didn’t seem like it, sweetheart.” 

 

He takes it off almost angrily, like his body is a weapon, and suddenly she wonders if that’s how he feels. Even though all she’s ever seen him do is lose.

 

Lydia decides to slide hers off in exactly the same way, her green and black polka dotted bra glowing bright in the blacklights. Lydia knows exactly what it feels like to be someone else’s toy — he used to hate her for it.

 

Or maybe he didn’t.

 

"Are you any good with that?" he asks, eyebrows raised pointedly at the paint brush in her hand. Lydia rolls her eyes.

 

"Why don’t you stand still and find out?"

 

The corner of his mouth twitches for a second, and she realized she’s never seen him smile. Apparently, tonight is full of realizations, but she doesn’t think about it. (She thought the same about Jackson freshman year — a gangly athlete with rage and loneliness coming off him in waves. Derek has a lot of that too. But when he looks at her it’s gentle, not spiteful.)

 

She starts low on his hip, swirling up and towards his chest. When she asked about the alpha pack’s symbol, Stiles told her the Hales had one too — a triskelion. She tries to mimick the drawing he gave her now, nudging until he lifts his arm so she can cover his side. Over the front of his torso to the other side, she uses the same strokes, arching swirls winding together in splashes of color and light. It feels like she’s transforming him, and she wonders if he’s ever felt truly transformed, or if the wolf and the man are no different in his mind. 

 

It doesn’t take long until she’s done his back, too, and there’s not much to do on his arms but gentle, careful green swirls, ending at the heels of his palms. He lets her move him like a doll, aiding her every step of the way, and she finds herself trying to pinpoint the moment he stopped humoring her and started being an active participant.

 

(That way of thinking leads to madness.)

 

She puts a little orange over his eyebrows, accenting them when they really don’t need it, just to watch them furrow. Then she turns to pick up the other brush, and dips it in pink before moving to start on her arm.

 

Derek grabs the handle, fingertips brushing hers. “I let you paint all over me and you’re not even going to offer?”

 

He’s leaning close, and it’s distracting. She’s never actually  _been_ this close to him before.

 

"I didn’t think you were into it," she bites back, though it lacks the actual  _bite_ part. 

 

Derek doesn’t answer, but he takes the brush. Dips it in the thin pink paint again and starts in a line at the center hollow between her collar bones. He swirls it to her right, looping it around and curving it the other way until he has to tap her shoulder so he can continue down her back. Dipping in the paint again he swirls and curves, arcs and dabs, carefully. 

 

She never thought he was artistic.

 

When he’s done he’s touched her far more than she’s ever seen him non-violently touch  _anyone,_ and her body is thoroughly swirled in pink, blue and green. When she turns fully to him he has her close her eyes, brushing a line of pink down the left side of her face, including her eyelid. On the other he swirls in green, a little hypnotic thing.

 

"You done?" she asks, pretending she isn’t shaken.

 

He’s smirking to himself like he knows exactly how out of character she thinks this is, and he’s relishing in it. Maybe that’s why he agreed - to throw her off her game.

 

 _Whatever._ Lydia doesn’t allow herself to be thrown. Not anymore.

 

"Come on," she orders, pulling him into the crowd.

 

"What are we doing now?"

 

Lydia faces him on the dance floor, taking his hands, probably halfway larger than her own, and guiding them to her hips. One hand goes on his shoulder and the other on his chest, and now (rather than when she was  _painting his body_ ) he looks nervous.

 

"Now? We dance. You do remember how that goes, don’t you?"

 

Apparently he takes this as a challenge, because when he moves his hips she discovers very quickly that  _someone_ has certainly taught Derek Hale how to dance, and that someone was particularly talented. His thigh moves slightly between hers, and she can’t help but let her mouth fall open, though it only fuels that smirk he’s been wearing  _so well_ since he apparently decided to be fun for once.

 

She almost smiles, upping her game as she slides her hand up to his neck. 

 

He doesn’t protest, even though she knows Derek Hale wouldn’t like baring his neck much to anyone anymore.

 

"How am I doing so far?"

 

She tilts her head. “You’re alright,” she lies, “considering there hasn’t been much opportunity lately.” 

 

He looks entirely too comfortable, and it’s making him  _dangerous._ She’s never been afraid of him before, but the challenging, confident look she’s inspired in his eyes makes him far more dangerous to her than Aiden ever could be. 

 

"I’ve heard differently."

 

Lydia gets up on her tip toes. “Maybe you used to be more creative.”

 

Derek’s hand slides from the polite place at her hip down over her ass and to her thigh, touching her carefully, despite how for all the world he looks like he could care less. There’s something reckless in his eyes, like he’s not sure whether this is the right thing to do but she’s brought him to the precipice and tipped him off, and now he doesn’t really care.

 

But his touch is still gentle, and there’s a certain safety in that.

 

"Good thinking," she comments, curling her ankle around the back of his calf.

 

"I like this shirtless idea," he murmurs, head dipping low behind her ear with his hand at the small of her back. His mouth touches her skin and she feels — for the first time since she heard the word  _banshee_ — like she’s coming to life.


End file.
